


He'll Be Back

by Captain_Custos



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Banshee Lydia Martin, F/M, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Jossed, Lydia-centric, Non-Human Parrish, Parrish is a pheonix, Temporary Character Death, this will all be jossed by the end of the season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Custos/pseuds/Captain_Custos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows he comes back. He comes back every time, of course he does, he's a Phoenix. Its what Phoenixes do. Anything to keep them all safe. Its a violent death, a blaze of glory and three days later he comes wondering home, tired and filthy, but whole. </p><p>It doesn't stop it hurting though. </p><p>It doesn't make her scream any quieter.</p><p>Second and final chapter now up</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mourn With The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a bunch of tumblr posts about Parrish's supernatural species being a phoenix (the flaming car, him burst into the sheriffs station covered in what looks like grave dirt) and me shipping Parrish and Lydia. And so I wrote a post about how aweful it would be for Banshee Lydia to be in a relationship with Phoenix Parrish and feel every time he died, even if he came back to her in the end. And some people liked it... so I wrote it

       

 _If you must mourn,_ _my love_

_Mourn with the moon and the stars up above_

_**If you must mourn,** _

**_Don't do it alone_ **

_..._

**** _-Lyrics taken from Keaton Hensons 'You'_

 

        This time it hit her lying in the bath tub.

        Keaton Henson was playing on the iPod dock and there was a full glass of Red wine perched on the table next to her. The soft curls of her hair had been looped up into a messy twist on top of her head, make up still on, jasmine bubble bath thick and fragrant settled up around her neck. Jordan was meant to be home a hour and a half ago. It was going to be a quiet night in, dinner, a movie, maybe some fun afterwards. Simple. Unexciting and stress free.

        But then 6 o’clock rolled on to 6:30, and the plate of saffron risotto went back into the still warm oven, the wine was poured, and a bath was drawn. Lydia Martin knew better than to wait around when the half hour mark came and went. She was used to it. Thats what happens when you sign up for life as a cops girlfriend. Stuff gets in the way, things happen, so she wasn’t that annoyed.

        She knew better than most of course, wondering onto her fair share of crime scenes in a Banshees daze and having to be steered of by the Sheriff or Parrish himself. She had seen horror in this town, seen blood and bone, Alison's body, Stiles face as the Nogitsone. Her worst nightmares had awoken from the dead, taken her by hand, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear without anyone even knowing. Beacon hills was a horrible place, and sometimes there could be no rest for the wicked or for the good.

     So she was a good 20 minutes into her soak. The wine was just starting to warm her insides, the music lulling her softly asleep, and the heavy botanical smell of jasmine was having a practically narcotic effect on her. 

        And then it struck.

        A sudden sickening coil in her guts. She could feel the tearing in her side, unsure if it was a bullet, a speeding car, or even claws. All her breath was punched out, and like a tsunami pulling back the tide to get ready for the wave, she started gasping in air until her lungs felt ready to explode.

        She reached out to grab at the table and knocked it over in a flurry, wine glass tumbling through the air and then smashing into tiny little slivers on the ground, the red of it soaking into the grout. She yanked herself up out of the bathtub, hyperventilating as the precursory panic attack ripped through her. The scream was clawing its way out of her lungs up her throat already and there was someone else's heartbeat ringing in her ears. Her feet slammed into the glass, but the pain was nothing, a glimmer of reality as the world started spinning.

        This wasn’t the first time she had felt this, but the vicious lash of it still had her practically crawling along the ground, teeth clenched so tight she felt as though they might crack at any minute. It was useless though. She knew she was going to scream. She always screamed when it was him. For any of the pack too she guessed, she felt the same when it was Stiles dying in that hospital room, or Alison fading away in Scotts arms, but she certainly doesn’t get to exercise it as much as she does for Parrish.

        Her hand slipped on the door, slippery with bath soap and her own blood, but she managed to yank it open and stumble to her room, leaving a trail of glass and deep red footprints in her wake. She collapsed onto the bed, reaching out and grasping the phone so harshly it starting creaking from the strain.

        Only then, phone in hand, ready and waiting for the call, any call, from anyone telling her what happened, did she scream. A true Banshees scream, inhuman and echoing round her skull, through the rafters of the loft, out of the windows and reverberating round the town. Any minute now she would probably get Scott calling her in a panic, or Derek appearing out of nowhere with this faux nonchalant look of his, or bless his soul little Liam knocking on her door asking if she was ok.

        The scream kept coming, the crashing wave of the tsunami rushing further and further in land, rising up and out into the tips of her fingers as though every cell was reverberating with the noise. Her throat eventually gave out and it became soundless and desperate, till she soon ran out of air and tailed off. Her breathing returned and she took a swing of water from the water bottle kept by her bed for just this purpose. then and only then, did she risk calling up the sheriffs station

        “Hello Beacon Hill Police Station how may I help you?” The voice on the other end of the line was female, and coating with that veneer of personal friendliness that Parrish always managed to make genuine.

        "It's Lydia Martin” _You know, that girl who shows up at crime scenes, finds dead bodies, is dating one of your officers, is high school best friends with another and is practically considered a daughter by your Sheriff. That Lydia Martin. you really should have recognised the number_

        “Good evening Miss Martin, how may I help you?” some poor newbie then. They always tend to be new people. Most don’t last past a year, and the ones that do transfer out pretty sharply.

        “Lydia Martin? I'm Deputy Parrish’s-“ girlfriend? wife? They’d been together nearly six years. The pack often joked about how the only thing missing from their perfect relationship was a marriage license. Legally she was just his girlfriend, but a wife's inquiry in these matters was always worth more than a girlfriends.

        “Partner. I’m Jordan’s partner”

        “Oh” the voice became a little less formally friends, more reserved, almost cold. Lydia couldn’t sense if it was the voice of a jealous admirer, or one cop not wanting to tell someones partner they’d just been killed.

        “Yeah”

        There was complete silence on the other end. The officer was swallowing nervously, and the only sound was her fidgeting and them both breathing heavily down the line. The longer time stretched out, the less she felt that the coolness was jealousy. Which would mean it was the second option. But she had already known that. Of course she had. But undeniably proof of something you already feel is still undeniable proof. It’s still horrible to hear.

        “Is he…”

        “Let me transfer you through to the sheriff.”

        There was a sharp clicking sound and the phone went dead for a few seconds before she head the rustling noises of it being picked up again.

        “Hello?” 

         God he sounded tired. That was something she always remembered about the sheriff, probably not something he wanted to be remembered for, but never the less, it was a defined point in her mind. He always sounded tired. Being a single parent for a hyperactive psychotic genius like Stiles was probably hard enough, with him sauntering onto crime scenes, breaking the law, acting like a general jackass to anyone who he didn’t consider a friend. But being the Sheriff of Beacon Hills on top of that had left the man sounding perpetually worn out. Not just tired, but down the bone exhausted. It was reassuring in away, the Sheriffs voice always had a calming effect on nearly everyone. It seemed as though nothing could ever shake him, he was already so used to the world around him. Probably why he still had the job after so much shit had happened. But he sounded more tired now than he ever had when Lydia was a kid. 

        “Who is this?"

        She had taken too long buried in her thoughts, and that tiredness was creeping into the irritation that he often used when talking to Stiles. 

        "Look, I really don't have time for prank calls right now so can you ju-"

        "It's Lydia"

        "Oh" the second 'oh' of the night, wasn't she doing well.

        "Whats up kid?" There was some caution in his tone now, a tentative fear of upsetting her. One little confirmation of fact after another. People don't tend to baby you if there is good news. Or no news. 

        "I screamed"

        There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and silence.

        So much silence this evening.

        "It was him wasn't it. It happened again." She choked out the last word on the sandpaper roughness of her throat, trying to bite back tears. It was so stupid, she knew it was stupid, and Lydia Martin really hated feeling stupid. He would be back. He always came back. There was no reason to cry over new ashes.

        "Look, it wasn't my watch kid. It was... extracurricular. you'll have to ask- wait a minute" he pulled the phone away and she could hear him yelling out to someone across the station. There was another scuffle and then someone else spoke

        "Hey Lydia." Scott.

        Oh Scott.

        If the Sheriffs voice had a calming effect on her, the voice of an Alpha was like Morphine. She didn't know if it was some sort of pack psychology bullshit, but she felt the muscles in her shoulders start to unwind, her chest releasing  and the sharp sting from her feet and hands started creeping back into her senses. 

        “What happened to him Scott?”

        “A Harpy. It was going for Liam and he just stepped in front. It was too fast, I’m so sorry Lydia. I couldn’t get to him I couldn’t-“

        “Its alright.” He was a self scarfing idiot. she knew that. And the whole pack was protective over Liam. Even Jackson liked to rough him around like the younger brother he never had.

        “I’m sorry”

        “Its ok.”

        “I’m so sorry”

        “He’ll be back” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other line. She could hear the tiredness creeping to Scotts voice too, wondered how long it would be before Jordan started to sound like that.

        “Yeah, he’ll be back” He sighed. She felt this kind of calm wash over her. Underneath she could feel the fury, rolling round in her stomach in a low blaze. Knew the minute he walked through the door she’d be screaming at him for being so stupid, that it wasn’t his job to die for them, that she hates him and won’t look at him anymore. She knows because it happens every time. and she knows by the end of the evening, she be clinging to him silently, his nose buried in her hair, her arms tight around his torso. But right now she's calm. Scott had told her he’ll be back, so he will be.

        “Where was it?” She tried to keep her voice under as much control as possible. It was a bit to airy, too casual, but the numbness was helping. 

        “Lydia there’s nothi-“

        “Where?”

        “Out by the school.” Of course it was out by the school, everything was out by the god damn school.

        “Ok, i’ll speak to you tomorrow”

        “Lydia wait. Don't just... are you sure you’re ok? Should I call someone? Malia? Kira? Isaacs good in a crisis? Even Jackson wou-“

        "Its fine. I just want to be alone for a bit.” she hung up before he could protest and she was left sitting on the bed, in an empty flat, with bloody feet, and a spare plate of saffron risotto in the oven.

        First things first she washed off her feet and hands, pulling out any bits of glass and chucking them in the bin, and then wrapping them up in a pair of Jordan's old socks that he wouldn’t care about getting bloody. Next the plate of risotto came out of the oven and was scraped of into the sink. She ignored the neighbours banging on her door, or the phone ringing. Presumably it must have been Kira. Scott would have called her anyway. Either that or it was one of the others trying to let her know what happened. There was still the bathroom and the hallway to deal with. The blood was mopped up, a task that she found worryingly easy, then the glass shards were swept away, the table righted, the bath drained, and the music turned off.

        Suddenly the apartment was plunged into an echoing quiet. She stood in the hallway, staring at the front door, trying not to cry. Her body started to go numb again. Blood seeped out of the cuts on her feet and into her socks and started drying, sticking them to her. At some point her legs gave out and she found herself slumped against the wall. There was a hum of traffic out of the window, and phone rang again a handful of times. She just sat and watched the door.

        “You know staring at the door is not going to make him show up, right?”

        She twisted around, and silhouetted next to her kitchen window was Derek, arms crossed, watching her.

        He moved forward into the hallway and then slid down the wall to sit next to her. The entire scenario seemed so bizarre, even though it had happened a hundred times. Everything that happened in the times when Jordan was dead was bizarre. It was like her brain stopped working right. The pack become ghosts to her, Scott and Stiles where just classmates, Kira and Malia were strangers, and Derek was just the towns favourite cautionary tale, she was 17 and alone again. But now he was Parrish's best friend, his only friend his own age. It wasn’t that unusual for Derek to check in with her when he died, almost expected even, but it still managed to shock her every time.

        “Your feet are cut”

        “I noticed”

        “What happened?”

        “Stepped on some glass”

       She could feel the tears coming up again, and Dereks leather clad arm was pressed up against the fleece of a bathrobe she didn’t remember putting on

        “You didn’t”

        “What?” she turned to him bleary eyed.

        “You didn’t put it on, I did”

        She looked down and realised she wasn’t exactly wearing the bathrobe, it had just been draped over her shoulders and tightened around the waist, effectively trapping her arms, but covering her up.

        “When did that happen”

        “Just now. Like 30 seconds ago”

        “Oh, sorry”

        “Its ok.”

        Its not though. She hates being seen like this. Not even Parrish has seen her like this. There haven’t been any real deaths for them since Allison. He's never seen her grief. He's seen her in ‘Banshee mode’ though, and told her once that is always scares him to see her so gone like that.

        They sit in silence for a while, pressed up against each other, just sharing in the stillness of the room. She could feel the question bubbling up inside of her. She needed to see the spot, she always did. It probably wouldn't be that hard to find it herself, drive to the school and then a quick try at tapping into some sort of Banshee water witching skills. But it would be so much easier to have someone come with her, and if anyone would take her, if anyone would understand that need to gather round his ashes, it would be Derek. 

        “Can you take me there?”

        “Theres nothing there Lydia”

        “I know I just… please”

        He looked at her, eyes flicking over every corner of her face the way Derek often does. People don’t notice it about him, but he is so careful, he watches so closely. She tried not to look as desperate as she knew she was; mascara runs down her face, hair falling out of its twist, tied up in a bathrobe she didn't even put on. 

        After a moment he nodded, stood and held his hands out for her. She struggled with keeping the robe in place, and once she was upright, she turned to fix it properly, and then they were heading down the stairs quietly to Dereks car, him half lifting her so as not to open the wounds on her feet.

        The drive to the school was a short one, but once they got there it was already 11, and Lydia was regretting not grabbing something thicker than a bathrobe to deal with the mid September chill. The wind whipped down the tunnel of corridors and bridges into a bitting winter breeze. Not for the first time she found herself worried about what would happen if the ashes scattered. The only real way to kill a phoenix is to split the ashes. A breeze couldn't actually do it, not even foot steps spreading the ash around could. It would have to be collected, sealed and stored, but it didn't stop the sharp worry slicing through her when she saw leaves and dust being flung into the air.

        Derek lead her down under the overpass. The one were Aiden had died. Up past the courtyard. Next to the Hallway were Stiles had nearly died. Out around the back of the classrooms and over to the field. Where she had nearly died. God she was so glad to be out of this place. No wonder they were all so screwed up.

        Right under the bleachers, Derek stopped. There was a viscous stain of something black and gold dripping down the seat above. Harpy blood.

        And then underneath it, was a little pile of ash.

        Its a weird feeling standing over phoenix ashes. Its not like standing in a graveyard, or looking at a body, where everything is already cold and empty. Phoenix ash is alive, it burns with energy and potential, and she could feel it, holding out her hand to hover above the little undisturbed circle, warming her cut up palms on his soul. She could feel the energy reach out and licking at the wounds, feel them stitching back together faster, stronger, better.

       “He’ll be back” Derek whispered from behind her, standing with his hands in his pockets, his quiet presence so reassuring. 

       “I know he’ll be back. He always comes back.” she sighed and dropped her hands, turning away from the whole scene and starting the walk off to the car

       “It doesn’t stop him leaving”

 

_**If you must die, sweetheart** _

**_Die knowing your life was my life's best part_ **

_And if you must die,_

_Remember your life_

_-Lyrics taken from Keaton Hensons 'You'_


	2. Echoes, Silence, Patience, & Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, the second and final part of my Marrish fic. Sorry there isn't much dialogue. I'm not a massive dialogue writer, it mostly just slips in as an after thought for me.
> 
> A bit of gore in this chapter, so read at your own risk. I also didn't want them to have a big screaming match, so its more comfort that fighting.
> 
> If you want me, you can find me here:  
> http://deathlydelicious.tumblr.com/
> 
>  
> 
> happy reading!

      

_Stand in the mirror_

_**You look the same** _

_**Just lookin' for shelter** _

_**From cold and the pain** _

_Someone to cover_

_Safe from the rain_

_..._

_-Lyrics taken from Foo Fighters 'Home'_

  

       There were flashes of searing pain first. A hot boiling sensation under his skin, and dry heat slowly creeping up his body. The harpy was perched on top of the bleachers screeching. Malia was climbing up them in leaps and bounds, Jackson right behind her. They caught the thing by the throat, pulling it down the steps till Jordan lost sight of it. All he heard was a sickening wet crunch, and then the soft sound of something falling to the grass.

        Liam was still crouched under him, staring up in horror, completely frozen. His wolf features were fading back in, mouth hanging open as his fangs receded and the yellow gleam bled out of his eyes. Scott was stood a little further of, still in his deputies uniform though it was now splattered with his own red blood and the black gunk from the harpy. Derek crept up next to him, followed by Jackson and Malia. All standing huddled together in a pack. All looking at him.

        Swallowing down the blood and bile rising in his throat, shaking his head to try and clear it of the dizzying fog that always came over him at times like this, Parrish risked looking down.

        His side was completely ripped open. Parts of his shattered ribcage where hanging in limbo, still stuck to him with a gooey combination of bodily fluids. Other pieces had already fallen on the ground, stained pink and glowing slightly with heat in the grass. His lung was completely torn apart and hanging down out of chest. His intestines, liver, kidneys and even some of his spine had all be shredded like mince meat. If his stomach and his mind had still been functional Jordan was sure he would have vomited by now.

        Still, better him than Liam.

        Liam who was now getting to his feet on very wobbly legs. For such an angry kid, he didn’t have much of a threshold for guts and gore. Parrish was frozen in place though, his body unable to collapse like he knew he wanted to. His head was telling him to sleep, to fall down and close his eyes, but his whole body was starting to spark, skin itching like it was suddenly too small.

        Liam reached out a hand for him, fingertips glancing off his forearm before he immediately flinched back. The skin was bubbled and blistered, searing hot. The place where he had touched was turning black and flaky.

        “Liam get back.” Scott, calm and controlled Scott, watching with sympathetic eyes, reached out a hand for his beta, beckoning him back and away from his partner. Already resigned to the inevitable. Jordan looked over at the other 3, Jackson and Malia standing point behind Derek, all of them sharing that same expression; a mixture of pity and something akin to respect.

        “We can’t just leave him here, what if someone disturbs it?” Liam pleaded as he fell back in line, Scotts arm coming up to squeeze around his shoulders in comfort.

        “He’ll be fine. Its happened before”

        “Yeah” Malia huffed, still unsure of how to deal with this sort of thing, resorting back to her classic mode of indifference. “Janitors are still trying to get those weird scorch marks out of the gym floor. You make such a mess”

        Jordan could already imagine the look Stlies would have thrown his way if he where here and not out patrolling with Isaac and Kira. One of those knowing eye rolls and a smirk for good measure. A Stiles apology if ever there was one. He may not have been Malia’s boyfriend anymore, but he was still more keyed up to her personality than even Isaac, who spent every minute slouching around after her.

        He could see the laugh it would get from Scott, Kira's soft giggle following after. Jackson would huff in annoyance and flounce off somewhere, Malia would reach over and smack Stiles around the head. Derek would share a look with Stiles, one that managed to say ‘you’re an idiot,’ and ‘you’re the best’ all at once. A look that would linger long after Stiles looked away. And then Parrish would catch his eye, Derek would blush, and he’d start laughing, until Lydia elbowed him and told him to behave.

        It was all so predictable, his little family unit, and he didn’t know why he always felt this way when it started. This aching nostalgia, an overbearing sadness. He’d be back, it wasn’t for good, but every time he went, he had his favourite memories cropping up on repeat. The pack together and happy, the Sheriff clapping him on the shoulder beaming with pride, Melissa handing him a cup of coffee at pack meetings with her motherly smile. Isaac grinning, Jackson cracking a joke, Malias face when she understood something, Derek relaxing, Stiles laughing, Scott and Kira lying next to each other at movie nights, Liam throwing a lacrosse ball, and Lydia brushing fingers through his hair.

        To be honest there was a lot of Lydia.

        Most of it was Lydia.

        Like 90% Lydia. 

        Oh god Lydia.

        “Scott” It came out gurgling and wet with blood. Scott instantly started to move forward, but Parrish held up a hand, the strain in the muscle of his shoulder setting of sparks behind his eyes.

        “Call Lydia,” Another gasping breath “Just make sure-,” a wet cough, blood dripping down his chin. He breathed in as deeply as he could with one working lung and a shattered rib cage.

        “Just call her.”

        “Ok” Scott smiled in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring, and pulled back into the pack. Parrish looked round at the kids crowded in front of him, all waiting for the process to begin, each with varying degrees of fear (Liam) and boredom (Malia). He made eye contact with Derek, and the man nodded, the unspoken promise passing between them.

       "Don't looked so sad you guys, I'll be fi-"

        Then with a burst of searing heat, his heart set itself on fire, The flames curled up out of the shattered remains of his body, cracking bones with white hot sparks.

        And the world was dark.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

        Parrish gasped in his first breathe with in new lungs through a handful of dust and earth.

        Choking round his own tongue he rolled over onto his front and pushed himself up, new joints popping into place for the first time. His legs wobbled around unsure and infantile. He was covered in a layer of mud and what he was pretty sure was his own ashes. The moon was hanging pale and milky white above the empty lacrosse field, a thin waxing crescent and he stumbled into the near blackness of the night. 

        He crept around the outside of the school, hoping to god that there were no groups of daring freshman or drunken seniors hanging around the place at what looked to be midnight. He broke the window leading into the corridor by the gym.

        A necessary evil that he wasn’t looking forward to having to ‘investigate’ later.

        Creeping down the hallway, he found himself at the lost and found, where he grabbed the least smelly pair of shorts and a polo shirt that looked like something Jackson would wear. He decided to forgo the crusty gym socks and slip his feet right into a pair of worn out sharpied vans.

        There was some kids abandoned bike in the parking lot, and he couldn’t help but tip his face back and thank the stars for his luck. Walking all the way out to the apartment in a broken pair of sneakers on a cool night like this would be brutal.

        The roads were blessedly empty and he arrived back at the apartment within 30 minutes, chucking the bike out back in the hedges.

        The building loomed over him, and he found himself standing on the green out front, to nervous to go in. He was always afraid coming home… after. Hated seeing the fear and the mistrust in Lydia's eyes.

        Well, not exactly mistrust just a tiny glimmer of hurt.

        A sense of betrayal.

        There was a light breeze in the air, and way up above him he could see the open window of their home. There was a light on inside, and he could see a shadow, her shadow, moving back and forth around their kitchen.

        The shadow came closer to the half drawn curtains and finally he could see her. She was hunched over the sink, hair tied up into a messy bun, her face pale and tired. There was a weariness to her movements, one that he didn’t like. She shook the water of her hands, smoothed out her hair, and then slumped down over the sink, head hanging low. He stepped forward slightly, wanting to run up and shout, to open the door, race up the stairs and rescue her from this, let her know it was ok, he was fine, he was back. But there was a privacy to this moment of hers, one he could observe, but not share.

        She spent a good few minutes there, shaking ever so slightly. Then with a roll of her shoulders, she looked up at the moon, the thin little slight of it, and let out a shuddering breath. She pressed her hands to her eyes, perhaps to stem the flow of tears, and his heart started to ache. And then she brought her hands away, looked down a bit, and saw him.

        The air around him seemed to still suddenly. The endless noises of humming cars on the highway, rustling trees, and tv chatter streaming from open windows faded out. He tried to make himself step forward, to smile, to even wave, but he was so frozen to the spot that he could barely even breathe. And then she broke away from the window and disappeared.

        He swallowed tightly, and shook his head, the world returning around him. He glanced down at himself and realised how stupid he looked, grey with ashes and dirt and dressed up like some high school kid. He was a 32 year old man for christ sake. Well, he in his head was. His body was still made in the blueprints of its 30s, but he was once again reminded that this one was hardly even an hour or two into its life at best. The scar on the back of his hand from his awful kitchen knife skills was gone. That muscle that he had tweaked in his ribs a month ago was also painless and back to ‘normal’. He was practically a child.

        A child terrified of going home.

        Before he had a chance to retreat any further into his head, the was a creaking sound of protesting hinges. The front door to the building had opened, and out stepped Lydia.

        She was wrapped up in a knitted beige cardigan, barefoot with the uncut grass tickling around her ankles. Her porcelain skin glowed in the golden halo of the far reaching street lamps. She pulled the cardigan tighter around herself, shivering in the cold and padded down the steps slowly, glancing around for him. He shifted forward from his hiding spot near the shade of the trees and her head whipped round.

        Her eyes locked with his and she gave out an defeated sigh.

        Parrish curled in on himself, his shoulders hunching up to his ears and his eyes fixed on the grubby toes of his stolen vans. He furiously tried wiping the dirt of his palms on the silky texture of the shorts, but they kept coming away just as grubby as before. There was a prickling heat behind his eyes and a tight flush spreading up his checks that told him he would be crying soon enough.

        A smooth, pale pair of hands reached out of the darkness in from of him and gently grasped his wrists. His movements stopped completely, but he couldn’t look up yet. Couldn’t see that tiredness in her eyes. Her hands slowly slipped up his arms, fingers leaving valleys of bare brushed skin in their wake. She was pressing ever so gently, searching at the notches in his elbows, around to the ridges in his wing-bones, checking that every piece of him had come back from before. She traced the lines of his clavicle, her touch ticking up the muscles of his neck till she reached his face. She brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, and he finally started to cry. Reaching up to take her hands in his, he let the tears fall slowly but in earnest.

        "Lyd- I ca-" He wanted to say sorry. Wanted to apologise for hurting her, but the words got caught in his throat as the adrenaline from resurection burned out and the hollow exhaustion descended.

        "Shh." She murmured to him, afraid to break the stillness of the night. "Its ok. you're home. you're safe," and most important of all "I'm here"

        She pulled his head down to her shoulder and wound one hand up into his hair and the other along his back, rubbing slow circles into his spine while softly humming into his ear. No song or tune in particular, just the one note, the sound enough to remind him she was there, he was here, everything was ok. Or it would be ok. He let his arms fall around her waist, no longer caring about the grime covering him. She clearly didn't.

        It was a good long time before either of them moved or spoke, but when they did, it was Lydia's arm pulling him round and inside, and her voice whispering soothing platitudes about cups of tea and warm showers.

        It was always Lydia taking the first step, always had been. If she hadn't had that inherent bravery to her, he would probably still be sat in the sheriffs office, watching as she flitted in and out with Stiles at her heels, Scott at her back, and Kira glued to her side. He never would have taken the first step, too afraid to fall. That fear would have meant never having ended up living with the most amazing women, never having met some of his best friends, never finding the home he needed or family he craved in the pack.

        He would probably never have died, but then again, the way he saw it, his deaths were part of his existence. If Lydia had never sat down at his desk that mid-June evening while assisting on a case and demanded with all the nerve she could that he took her out for coffee, his life would have been so infinitely different.

        But then again, that iron will was what made him love her in the first place, so maybe he would never have been so gone on her if she didn't posses that strength. It was her willingness to stand up and say no, to go where she had too, to do what she needed to do and damn the consequences that had him enchanted from the first step. There was so much more to her than just that. There was fragility, kindness, an endless empathy, a wicked sense of humour and a hundred other tiny things that he learned later, that made Lydia amazing. But it was her ability to stand in the face of fear, to push down her worries and tackle problems head on, that made him marvel at her. Its what made coming home both so easy and so hard.

        She pulled him into the tiny hallway of their home, sitting him down on the bench and  easing off his shoes. After that the shirt was pulled of slowly, the fabric moving over his hair causing a moat of dust to explode into the air. Lydia disappeared briefly, he heard the sound of water running, and when she came back the shirt and shoes were gone. She lifted him up by the elbows gently and steered him down the hallway to their bedroom, and then round into the bathroom where the shower was already starting to fog up the mirror. He saw her there, in the mirror,  tiny and feirce and clean, standing in front of him, dirty and worn out and practically falling over.

       She craned up onto her tip toes, pulled his head down, and kissed his hairline. As she smoothed out the tufts of his hair, he finally looked at her.

       Her eyes were faintly red from crying and the salty tear tracks were still on her cheeks. Her skin was drawn and grey from lack of sleep, and bruised deep purple under her eyelids. She was smiling at him though, brows furrowed and mouth only pulled up slightly, as if the act of smiling was unfamiliar. Her clothes were filthy with grey ashes, and her hair looked unbrushed even in its bun, but there was so much calm around her that the world in here seemed far away and so harmless. Nothing could get to them.

       "I am so so sorry" He finally choked out, throat still tight with tears

       "I know, I know. Its ok, just clean up. You'll feel more yourself when you're clean. You always do." There was a flint of accusation in that last part, but it was expected. She slipped out of the bathroom quietly as Parrish pulled off the shorts and stepped under the wonderful spray of water, watching the remnants of his old body swirl away down the drain.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

       She was curled up on the sofa when he came out of the shower, clutching a mug of tea. She had changed into pale blue pyjamas with white birds flying over the legs . He glanced back down at his own sleep pants and huffed out his first laugh when he realised he was wearing the corresponding navy pair in the same pattern. A gag couples gift from Melissa a year or so ago, but already well worn. 

       She glance up at the noise, took in his clothes and let out a laugh of her own. It was just a small giggle, but it got him laughing again, less forced and restrained as he crept further into the room, tension broken a bit. They both eventually tailed of at the same time and the awkwardness descended again. It was always like this after, both of them unsure how angry or freaked out the other one was. Sometimes Lydia was furious with him for doing something as stupid as taking a bullet for one of the wolves, and sometime Jordan's deaths were so horrific they left him in a haze of shock.

       "Hi." His voice seemed to soft and clear, not heavy enough for the moment. Nevertheless, she smiled at him, her now loose hair spilling down over her eyes.

       "Hi." She put down her tea, imitating the same gentle whisper.

       She reached for him and he took the hand gratefully. Pulling him down onto the fluffy pile of blankets and pillows covering the Ikea monstrosity, she handed him a mug of something that smelled like cinnamon, mint, and ginger. No doubt a concoction brewed up by her and Deaton to help his new body recenter itself. He took a small sip and put it back on the table and then lay down, head on her lap.

       "How long was I gone for?" It was the question he feared the most, but always the first he asked after he had 'become himself again'. The shortest time had been 24 hours for a slit throat, the longest had been three weeks for being too slow to disarm a homemade bomb. That time there hadn't even been any ashes left there. Lydia had been furious with him when he finally dragged himself home. He had just sat there and listened to her scream at him, letting her rage and rant with no input until she had finally managed to sob out,

    _"What if you didn't come back?"_

      _"What do you mean?" His head had jerked up, ears ringing once again. He remebered seeing her there, dressed in a black sweater dress, mascara streaming down her face, such an un-Lydia look._

_"It was three weeks! There was nothing there Jordan. You didn't burn you exploded. Don't you get it? Nothing! God, Kira and Derek started asking if I wanted to make funeral arrangements!"_

_"You've covered for me before" He had felt the guilt twisting into him, already knowing what she was trying to say._

_"This wasn't covering, we thought you were gone! What if that was it. What if thats how you finally kill a pheonix?" Her voice had suddenly dimmed down to a helpless and broken plea._

_"What if one day you don't come back?" He had immediatly burst out of his chair,  pulling her into the tightest hug he could while she sobbed into his collar._

       He hated it, hated doing this to her every-time. He wasn't some idiot who was going to break up with her to 'keep her safe', but it still tore into him the way nothing else could knowing that she had to feel it, scream for his death and then wait here like some war widow. 

       Sometimes it was bad like that. Sometimes she screamed at him, blamed him, hated him. It was never as bad as that night but it was always different each time.

      Lydia's hand in his hair tightened and he was dragged out of his head into the present. He glanced up to see her stairing away, caught in her own set of memories, perhaps even of the same night. Pyjamas weren't the only places where their thoughts tended to be the same.

      "Lydia, how long?"

      "A week. The sheriff said you had to leave suddenly for a family funeral. If I were you, i'd expect condolences and pity, sorry"

      "Its fine" his eyes drifted closed as her hand continued working over his scalp.

      "How bad?" And that was the question she always had to ask. Because if she had to sit through the days, sometimes weeks alone, he had to go through the killing itself. They could be so simple. Like a bullet in the head, over too quick to feel. The fires would come over him after and he'd feel nothing but disorientation and dizziness when he woke. Even when he got blown up it wasn't that bad. Other times though, times when he'd bled out or suffocated, he would come back so shaken it could take him hours of going through the motions to stumble back to the apartment in a near catatonic state of shock.

       Drowning had been the worst of those times, and for months after he had woken up unable to breathe, feeling the fires flicking up inside him only to be extinguished in a crushing and endless sea.

       Phoenix fire always won in the end, but it still had a tough time in water.

       On that particular occasion he had been taken for a number of days by some hunters, tortured for information he never gave, and eventually tied to a cinder block, gagged and restrained like some old mob movie and thrown into a lake a town over. That had also been a week long wait. He managed to stumble into a diner after, soaking wet and naked mumbling the name Stilinski till the owners finally got in contact with the Sheriff. When the man dropped him off at home, Lydia looked about ready to read him the riot act but as soon as he stumbled through the door and collapsed, heaving and sobbing, it was forgotten. It had taken him 4 days to finally tell her what happened, or to really say anything. None of the pack knew where he had gone and all she had felt as he died was a breathless choking that wasn't unusual for any death shadows she got. 

       "It was pretty bad" he swallowed down the phantom feeling of acid climbing up his throat.

       "Was it quick?" Sometimes he blessedly blacked out toward the end of his death. This had not been one of those times. 

       "Slow, very slow." Her arms tightened around him and she bent her head down lower

       "Liam told we what you did. From the sounds of it you actually saved him."

       "He's ok?"

       "He's all shaken up, but he's fine. We'll go see them all in the morning." Another knot in his stomach unwound. The last few fragments would surely fall back into place after he saw the pack and had a chance to soak in the love of his whole family.

       "Thats good. Thats good." He let himself relax into her, drifting away into a much needed rest.

       "Hey Jordan?"

       "Yeah?" He tried not to yawn in her face.

       "I'm really proud of you"

       He cracked open an eye and looked at her, gazing down at him with so much love it made his heart burst into a whole different kind of flame. One that coiled around him with warm contentment.

       "I just need you to know that, know that I'm always proud of you." He smiled back at her and shifted slightly to allow her to lie down more comfortably.

       "I love you Lyds"

       "Of course you do. I'm amazing." he laughed again. 

       "You still going to be here when I wake up?

       "Of course I will. I'll always be here"

 

  ... 

Echoes and silence

Patience and grace

**All of these moments**

**I'll never replace**

...

-Lyrics taken from Foo Fighters 'Home'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hate when fic writers make excuses about why they are so late updating, but I feel I do owe you an explination. I had one of my best friends, who I haven't seen in 2 years, fly all the way over from Vancouver to spend a week (and a half) with me, so I was spending all my time with her. I am so sorry, but I don't get to see my Canadian friends that often, so this past week and a bit was Carmen week. 
> 
> Any way, I hope you enjoyed the second part. 
> 
> Stay tuned for a oneshot based on this post:  
> http://stilinskimartinhale.tumblr.com/post/93246247062/marrish-headcannon

**Author's Note:**

> Some character notes 
> 
> Stiles: I am a very firm believer in the 'Stiles is actually a creepy little asshole' ethos. I love that about him. I too am a creepy little asshole. But yeah, he is kind of a dick to anyone who isn't Scott or his friends. I'm not a big believer in 'pack-mom' Stiles. Long live manipulative sociopathic Stiles. Let him be free. (Also I think he would make a great Lawyer or M.E. Can you imagine Stiles as Harvey Spector, just bullying people into agreeing with him. I love it and i'm here for it)
> 
> Scott: I really think Scott would be great in the Sheriffs station. As the local alpha it would give him the ability to actually gain access to places to help people and do his 'job' or protecting Beacon Hills easier. Also come on, the guy lives to help people, its perfect. I also like to imagine that he and Kira are still together.
> 
> Liam: I really want Liam to become this cute little ball of anger. Like we saw in a bit in the past few episodes, how he likes being a submissive personality to Scott, he likes having that support. He is a bit of an Isaac, not a jackson. Poor little baby is trying.
> 
> Isaac and Jackson: In my brain they came back. They aren't mentioned in this story, but I imagine they drifted home.
> 
> Lydia and Parrish: Have been together for 6 years, since Lydia was 19. That would make Lydia 25 at the time of this story, and Parrish is around 32. They are in love. Haven't you heard. They rock each others WOR-E-ORLD (little Avril Lavigne for you there, you're welcome).
> 
> Sheriff, Melissa, Raph, and Malia: All still doing their thing
> 
> Derek: Poor baby. I don't know what he's doing right now. probably out stalking Stiles.


End file.
